


The Idea of Hope

by suchabeautifuldisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchabeautifuldisaster/pseuds/suchabeautifuldisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I tried to come up with some quote but I'm way too tired to bother. I wanted to give them a chance to be happy, with no one dying, and forgiveness, and hope. </p><p>Also I know Jasper's hair isn't long anymore but I was rewatching season 2 and it stuck with me. </p><p>I do not own anything, and let me know if you want me to put in some excerpts about the others, like Octavia or Raven, because I will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Idea of Hope

Things don’t exactly go back to normal.

 

In fact, Clarke is not even sure if normal exists, at least not for her.

 

She read in a book once, in a time where her Dad was still the center of her universe and her hands were once permanently covered in charcoal from sketching in her notebook… she read once about a family with a picket fence and a big yellow house. In that house, there was a golden retriever and a big, happy family with kids that always, always got into redeemable trouble that was resolved with an affectionate lecture and a pat on the head.

 

Clarke assumes that’s what normal is like; a dream world that she never got to know, or ever be a part of. Normal seems like a sentimental concept that her people had always strived for, back when they lived on a spaceship to when they first crashed here, desperately hopeful for a second chance to start over on the planet they once called home.

 

If she really thought about it, Clarke thinks that her normal consists of feeling worried and exhausted every day, down to her bones.

 

She thinks her normal must be the smell of blood and sweat and fear.

 

Her normal is filled with pain and agony and the bitter sadness of her friends around her.

 

Her normal is her people dying and making impossible choices and trying so damn hard to be the good guy and failing every single time.

 

Her normal is looking into Jasper’s thin, pale face and seeing nothing but hate etched into the very planes of his features whenever he sees her.

 

Her normal… her normal is recognizing each new wrinkle and crease on her mother’s face and noticing the tense line of Octavia’s shoulders and trying to ignore the staggering limp in Raven’s step and seeing the grief that’s seeped into Monty’s eyes, and might always be there.

 

And then... Then there's Bellamy, who understands her in ways that never fail to surprise her… who looks like a battered soldier that’s still unsure if the battle is really over.

 

Gone is the smug, arrogant boy who snuck into the drop ship. Here is the broken young man that picked up a gun and hasn’t put it down since.

 

So, yeah.

 

Things don’t quite go back to normal, and Clarke likes to think it’s better that way, better than what her normal had become.

 ***

Clarke still doesn’t know how they pulled it off, but they end up saving most of their people from Alie.

 

It had been touch-and-go for two days with Luna, trying to convince her to fight when the last chosen one wanted to do anything but.

 

However, with Bellamy at her side, anything had seemed possible.

 

Luna and Clarke had eventually come to an agreement: if Luna took the chip, she would never kill again. None of her people would. If there was to be a battle, it would be one with no dead to hit the ground.

 

Clarke agreed, full of disbelief and a hope that had been crumbling in her heart for quite some time. Bellamy's shoulder had been touching hers throughout the tense compromise, too-serious brown eyes never once leaving her face.

 

Octavia didn’t think it would work, for grounders were created by blood and war… they had tried blood must not have blood, and it _failed._

 

Oddly enough, Jasper was all for it, wiry arms crossed tightly over his chest and face filled with so many emotions Clarke couldn’t even start to decipher, but she thinks one of them might’ve been relief.

 

By the time they get to Polis, there’s blood painting the streets and agonized howls cutting through the air.

 

Luna and Alie face off in a battle that's mind against mind, pitting loved ones against loved ones, seeing just how much the other could take. But Alie had underestimated Luna. Alie had forgotten after being downloaded into mind after mind, just how different it works when it's guided by a heart instead of technology.

 

The chosen one defeats Alie at her own game, showing her what the city of light really was, what she was actually doing to the people she was so hell-bent on 'saving'. 

 

There isn't a war, and Alie gets deactivated. As soon as Abby is chip free, Clarke is hugging her Mom tight enough to hurt, and that's okay because her Mom is hugging her back just as tight. 

 

After many talks that Kane persuaded himself into, he was able to get the clans to agree to accept Skaikru as the thirteenth clan and resumed the position as chancellor.

 

Clarke thought that her Mom might be upset at the choice, but the way Abby kissed Kane after the announcement, arms wrapping around him like a vine, Clarke quickly changes her mind.

 

She always sees them together now, with lingering looks filled with love and respect, hands interlocked, and Clarke can’t help but feel happy for her Mom. She deserves happiness, especially after all they’ve been through. Clarke’s father hasn’t been forgotten and he never will be, but that doesn’t mean Abby can’t move on.

 

At least, that’s what Clarke tells herself every day. She’s starting to believe it, a bit more with each mental reminder.

 ***

Octavia leaves for two weeks.

 

Doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going, didn’t even say goodbye. Her departure feels so familiar to Clarke, for she remembers a sunny day and Bellamy’s unrecognizably soft, worried brown eyes boring into her own, asking her to stay.

 

Forgiving her when she didn’t deserve it.

 

_Forgiveness isn’t about what people deserve._

 

Clarke doesn’t blame Octavia for leaving because Lincoln is dead and Octavia had to watch Monty shoot his Mom in exchange for her life and her older brother still doesn’t see her as the hard-edged, capable young woman that she’s become.

 

Sometimes, Clarke still sees Octavia as the naive girl that ran off to chase a butterfly.

 

No, Clarke doesn’t blame her.

*** 

Jasper and Monty avoid each other.

 

In fact, Clarke watched today as Monty walked out of their makeshift hospital.

 

His dark, lanky bangs hung down over his forehead and thin mouth was pursed in a thin line. Jasper had been leaning against one of the sheds, trying to look nonchalant but Clarke _knows_ that Jasper has never been good at being inconspicuous.

 

As soon as Monty had started walking, Jasper was quick to leave his watching post, steps quick and gangly, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

 

Clarke couldn’t help herself, had paused in her sketching to see Monty dip his head low, his shoulders slumping, feeling his best friend’s approach but refusing to acknowledge it. However, today was an improvement, for usually Monty turned around and yelled at Jasper to leave him alone, before taking off to the stables.

 

However, this time he actually let Jasper stay close.

 

It was a start, at the least. 

 ***

Clarke spends more time with Raven than she ever thought she would.

 

With her suddenly enhanced brain and a determination to do whatever she can in honor of Sinclair’s death, Raven buzzes with newfound energy and words spill out of her, utterly brilliant and almost impossible to follow.

 

Clarke sits in Raven’s workshop most days, sketchpad in hand, charcoal in another, and listens to the clear hum of Raven’s voice and the drumming of her fingertips against whatever she’s working on for that day.

 

While her and Raven are vastly different, Finn had fallen in love with both of them. Clarke feels like there are more similarities between them than she ever could’ve thought.

 

They’re both reckless, and care too much, and are stubborn to such a point that Clarke wants to laugh when Raven refuses, for the fifth time, to have her surgery, for Raven fully believes that she can fix herself.

 

And hell, maybe she can.

*** 

Clarke’s days are filled with Raven’s chatter and her Mom’s soothing touch on her hair and Monty’s shoulder pressed against hers at dinner, the raucous noise of conversation from their people enveloping them.

 

Her nights, however, are a different story, for sometimes she’s able to sleep, and other times her choices come back to haunt her, waking her up screaming for another chance.

 

Her Mom holds her through it, and most of the time, Clarke lets her.

 

However, there have been a few times, when her eyes see nothing but Emerson’s cruel face, inches from her own as he choked her and Lexa’s shocked one after she was shot in the stomach, that Clarke wishes there was someone else, holding her. 

 

But that someone else is never there, no matter how many times she whispers his name into her Mom’s shoulder.

*** 

After the battle, after Pike was buried without a grave mark.

 

After Kane was appointed chancellor.

 

After Octavia took her favorite horse and left for the woods, Bellamy is anywhere and everywhere.

 

Whether he’s on a supply run or he’s at Kane’s side or he’s training new guards, Bellamy is a nonstop driven force that Clarke’s afraid will burn out.

 

Clarke tried searching him out at first, but he’s constantly doing things, constantly alert and constantly acting like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Bellamy keeps a hand at his gun always, keeps those too-serious dark eyes looking for the signs of a threat, keeps himself to the shadows, for Octavia has come back three times since she first left, and hasn’t said a word to him since.

 

Clarke doesn’t know what to do.

 

Bellamy is many things, has buried his face in her neck and told her that he didn’t want to be angry at her anymore, has been at her side and been the hand on top of hers that made an impossible choice and still looks at her as a person who is capable of goodness… and still, every time she reaches out, he pulls back, muttering that he’s busy and maybe later.

 

But later never comes.

 

Now, here she is, staring at the canvas ceiling, wide awake and unable to turn off her thoughts. Clarke doesn’t know how long since she gave up on sleep, but now learning every nook and cranny in the material has gotten boring.

 

Clarke decides to go for a walk.

 

Maybe a walk will make her feel sleepy.

 

Maybe a walk will clear her head so that when she shuts her eyes, nightmares of her mistakes won’t come.

 

The night is cool and crisp, a faint breeze running lightly through her blonde hair and raising goosebumps on her arms. Clarke turns her head to the night sky, glittering with tiny pinpricks of stars and a full moon.

 

She wonders if she’ll ever be in the sky again.

 

Maybe Lexa has become one of those stars, and now she’s watching her from up above. If maybe that’s the only form of reincarnation Lexa will ever get.

 

It’s when she walks past Bellamy’s makeshift tent that she hears someone, a male, grunting with exertion and cursing so loudly that it makes her stop.

 

“ _DAMNIT! FUCK!”_ the male voice yells in pain, and Clarke doesn’t even think about it, striding up to the closed flap and shoving it open.

 

Bellamy’s on the rough ground, shirtless and kneeling, cradling his wrist in his hand.

 

Slowly, he raises his head, his intense gaze taking her breath away. For a moment, the two stare at each other, Clarke losing herself in his eyes and she can’t seem to find it within herself to care.

 

Just… just go back to sleep, Clarke,” Bellamy says in a strained voice, breaking the tense silence, his words teetering on a forced calm that never really settles.

 

Clarke watches him worriedly, gaze latching on his heaving shoulders, the sweat pooling at his temples, the dark half-moons that seem to be permanently tattooed underneath his eyes. He pants harshly, staring back at her, brown meeting blue.

 

In those few seconds, Clarke makes her decision.

 

Running a tired hand through her disheveled hair, she takes a seat on the ground, the coolness of the earth seeping into her skin immediately. She brings her bare legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins, resting her chin on her knees.

 

Bellamy glares at her stormily in shock,  still holding his wrist as she settles herself more comfortably.

 

“Please leave,” the words come out as a quiet plea, so quiet that they almost get caught in the wind whistling through the trees outside.

 

Clarke interlocks her fingers together, and for a moment she gets caught up in watching his damp hair curl at the edges from the drying sweat before her gaze falls to the sad grimace on his full mouth.

 

She’s seen him frown more than she’s ever seen him smile. And it bothers her, _it’s always bothered her_ , way more than it ever should.

 

“No,” Clarke replies softly, tries to ignore the racing beat of her heart as he lets out a growl of frustration, shaking his head in an abrupt, jerky movement.

 

“ _Clarke,_ come on,” Bellamy grits out through bared teeth, all traces of false assurance gone, replaced by an anger so fierce that he might just let it consume him… what Bellamy thinks is left of him, anyway.

 

“I said no. Now let me see your wrist.”

 

Clarke’s determined voice leaves no room for negotiation and she holds out an expectant hand that only shakes slightly.

 

Bellamy stares at that hand for a few seconds, already memorized the perfectly rounded ovals of her fingernails and the freckle that’s located between the valley of her pointer and middle finger. He knows how her hands are strong yet delicate, her skin so pale in comparison to his own tanned hue.

 

He heaves out a breath and places his hand in hers. Clarke bites her lip to hold back the relieved smile, scooching closer so that she can get a better look. In the dim light that Bellamy’s lantern brings, she smoothes her fingers lightly over the bones in his wrists, ignoring how warm his skin is and how his hand nearly encompasses both of her own.

 

Bellamy winces once as she touches a spot right by his pulse point, and she narrows her eyes. “I don’t think you’ve sprained it, just twisted it the wrong way. You should be fine by tomorrow,” Clarke murmurs, unable to help herself as she traces her fingers over his arm and up to his hand, not even checking anymore but just… touching.

 

She flicks her blue eyes up just in time to watch him watching their hands and he nods, not meeting her gaze.

 

They don’t talk, and it’s not weird, or awkward. It’s… it’s like a conversation without any words.

 

Clarke has questions, a lot of questions, and Bellamy’s like a coiled spring, waiting for the right trigger to unleash him… but for now the two crowd close in the hazy light of the lantern, and fall asleep, shoulder-to-shoulder on Bellamy’s mass of blankets.

 

She wakes up to the sounds of her people buzzing around outside and one of the blankets thrown over her lap.

 

She doesn’t seem him for the rest of the day, she didn’t expect to, for one night doesn’t change anything. She also doesn’t go back the next night or the next.

 ***

It’s Bellamy who finds her, days later, when she’s on the precipice of sleep.

 

She had been working on sketches of medicinal plants for her Mom, garnered from Raven’s knowledge and the scraps from Lincoln’s journal. Clarke was almost done, just needed to finish the descriptions, but sleep had hooked its claws in and was drawing her under.

 

Suddenly, she hears the faint crunching of leaves underneath boots, the loud footsteps stopping just in front of her tent flap. “Clarke? Are you awake?” Bellamy asks outside, sounding unsure and hesitant, like he rarely ever is.

 

She blinks dazedly, unconsciously tightening her grip on a mangled piece of charcoal that she had been using. Exhausted and disoriented, Clarke pulls herself up into a sitting position and drags her notebook over her lap, eyes squinting at the pages.

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m up,” she croaks out, her voice rough from disuse. She hadn’t done anything today other than seeing her Mom for a bit at the hospital and then working on this, only to skip dinner that night as well.

 

Some days, Clarke can’t bear to be around anyone, not even Raven or Monty or her Mom, for they are part of the cross she bears every day, and sometimes, it’s really, really hard to ignore it.

 

She had said to Bellamy on that beach, that she was still working on forgiving herself... that maybe she’d have that some day.

 

That someday seemed very, very far away.

 

Bellamy passes through the tent flap, looking better than he had a few days ago. He’s also wearing a shirt and a jacket, something that Clarke’s seriously considering if it’s an improvement or not.

 

She crosses her legs and when she looks up at his face, shoots him a tiny smile. “Everything okay?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t quite smile back at her, but the corner of his mouth twists up, showing some modicum of effort.

 

His hands hang limp at his sides, shoulders slumped, and his eyes give more away than Clarke has seen in weeks. “Come somewhere with me,” he says, barely over a whisper, brown boring into blue.

 

Not for the first time, Clarke is unable to look away, lost in that gaze and not caring if she's ever going to be found.

 

She knows her answer before she even has to say it.

 

“Okay,” she murmurs, nodding once. She flips her notebook shut and carefully settles her writing utensil on top of it, leaving her two most prized possessions on the sleeping bag she’d nearly fallen asleep on. Bellamy watches her do it all, and when she starts to get up, he holds out a hand.

 

His hand is big and calloused and littered with fading scars, lighter than his tanned, freckled skin.

 

She slips her hand in his own, his skin cold to the touch, and lets him pull her up. His grip brings her right into his space, so close that she can see the smattering of freckles that track untraceable paths down his cheekbones, his forehead... her gaze zooms in on the tiny cleft in his chin.

 

There's a sudden desire then, to lightly press her finger there, and Clarke stamps it down, just as quick.

 

His eyelashes are long and dark, the bridge of his nose smattered with darker freckles, the sharp line of his jaw becoming soft in the faint light of Clarke's lamp.

 

Dazedly, Clarke wonders how she missed this before, how she could have missed all of these important aspects of Bellamy when they had been right in front of her this whole time.

 

After a moment, one that lasts too long for friends forged together by responsibility and survival, Bellamy’s hand releases hers and he takes a step back, releasing a heaving sigh.

 

Clarke blinks, feeling like an entirely different person, her heart a startled, fluttering bird inside her ribcage.

 

“Where are we going?” she asks quietly, running a hand through her sleep messy hair. This time, Bellamy doesn’t meet her eyes, instead moves to the front of her tent and briskly opens the flap.

 

“You’ll see,” is all he says, before walking out. Shaking her head in exasperation, because this is Bellamy, who only gives out answers when he wants to, and follows him out into the darkness.

 

They sneak out of camp through a hole in Arcadia’s walls that Octavia had made after coming back the second time, hidden partially behind some sheet rock.

 

Clarke doesn’t ask any more questions, just listens to Bellamy’s calm, even breaths and the crunching leaves after every one of their footfalls. The nights are getting colder, and she’s grateful that she grabbed her jacket on the way out, for she’d probably be shivering by now.

 

Bellamy doesn’t take her too far; they end up half a mile or so out east, and he stops them once the two reach a giant oak tree. The stump of the tree is massive, the roots looking to be bigger than one of Bellamy’s arms, and in the dim light that the moon provides, she watches him take a seat.

 

He presses his back against the thick, sturdy trunk, and makes enough room for her to squeeze into. As soon as she sits, he shifts slightly, their shoulders touching, before tipping his head against the bark.

 

“I was out on a supply run a week ago and found this tree. I’ve been coming here ever since,” He says quietly, sounding so honest that it makes the breath catch in Clarke’s throat.

 

She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her arms on top of her knees. “I like it. It’s big.”

 

Beside her, Bellamy snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. It’s crazy, y’know? Back on the ship, I never thought I would see something like this. It’s surreal.”

 

Clarke smiles, remembering herself covering the walls of her prison cell with buildings and animals and trees, just like this one. After all of this time, the fact that she lives on the planet she’d never thought she’d get to experience… Bellamy’s right.

 

_It is surreal._

 

“You should draw it, in your notebook,” Bellamy adds after a moment, bringing one of his legs up to drum his fingers on his knee. Clarke turns her head slightly, tries to catch the expression on his face that she, of course, can’t see due to the darkness.

 

“How’d you know about-” She starts to say before he cuts her off, quick and swift.

 

“You have it with you all the time, Princess. Rare to see you without it.”

 

_Princess. He hasn’t called me that… the last time someone called me that…_

 

Clarke blinks in surprise, mouth opening once more but she can’t seem to find her voice.

 

_What else had he been noticing this entire time? And why hadn’t I realized sooner?_

 

Bellamy was always the soldier, the one who shoots and asks questions later, but maybe he was more observant than she’d ever thought.

 

“Are you okay, Bellamy?” the words tumble out of her before she can even try to reel them back in, because it’s been a question that’s bothered her for weeks and months, since the moment she left him and the others at Arkadia.

 

Ever since Bellamy tried to rescue her and almost died for it.

 

_Are you okay?_

 

Ever since he looked at her in polis, furious and eyes pleading at her to leave with him, and she had told him that she was sorry.

 

_Are you?_

 

Ever since they were on that beach and Clarke tried to hug all of his pain away with the promise of needing each other to survive.

 

Bellamy stiffens, his hand curling into a fist at his knee. “No,” he spits the word out, filled with anger and a grief that’s too terrible to name.

 

One that she feels, deep in the pit of her gut.

 

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, only to open them a second later.  

 

“Me neither,” she whispers, and it feels like a secret that she’s held in for far too long.

 

The two don’t say anything else. They sit and listen to the faint sounds of an owl hooting in the distance, the intake, and release of their breathing.

 

Again, they fall asleep.

 

Some time later, Clarke feels someone hoist her into their arms like it’s nothing, and then her cheek is pressed against a threadbare shirt and warm skin. She smells earth and sweat and something that is purely Bellamy, before drifting off once more.

 ***

Clarke wakes up with the sun shining through the thin polyester of her tent, one of her blankets tucked around her and a note, scribbled on a torn page of her notebook, now crumpled in her hand.

 

_Come back tonight_

 

And she does.

 

Every night, Clarke makes her way towards the tree. Sometimes Bellamy beats her there. Other times, she’s waiting for him to show up.

 

The first few nights, they hardly say anything to each other, and if they do, it’s small talk with no real meaning. There are comments about how much food is left and how Bellamy needs to ask Raven to take a look at the Jeep and if one of them should tackle Jasper and finally give him a damn haircut.

 

Maybe it’s the fourth night, or the seventh when Bellamy starts to talk to Clarke.

 

 _Really_ talk to her, about his Mom, about how she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and that he tried so hard to be as strong as her, but always, always failed.

 

“I watched her give birth. It was… insane, to say the least. But it had to be a secret, because you can’t have more than one child, especially with being in a working faction. God, she just did it, and there Octavia was.” The sheer awe in Bellamy’s voice is intoxicating, makes Clarke lean in closer, desperate to hear every whispered word.

 

He shakes his head, a small, wondrous smile dancing on his lips. “Octavia, she- she wouldn’t stop crying. I had to shove my finger in her mouth to get her to stop, and then she looked at me, and I knew. I knew I would die for her, right then and there. I named her, y’know?” He pauses to look over at Clarke, the moonlight reflecting in his brown eyes, caught up in the memory.

 

Clarke can’t help but smile back and nudges his shoulder with her own. “Of course you did,” she says back, a flare of jealousy erupting in her heart for a small second because Bellamy had a sister and Clarke had always, always wanted a sibling.

 

Wells had been that for her, but she had always thought about a big sister with her Dad’s sandy brown hair or a little brother with her Mom’s intuitive dark eyes.

 

Bellamy’s eyes search her face for a moment, tracking every feature, before resting his head back against the trunk. This time, his voice comes out bitter and cracked, his smile fading.

 

“My sister, my responsibility. That’s what my Mom told me. And I failed. I failed her, and I’ve failed Octavia. Again.”

 

Without even thinking about it, Clarke reaches out for one of his hands and brings it into her lap, gently squeezing his fingers. “You did what you thought was right, Bellamy. You realize that you aren’t just a brother to Octavia; you’ve also been her parent, right? That’s a pretty hard job, and I think you’ve done the best you can,” Clarke says determinedly, turning slightly to get a look at his face.

 

His jaw clenches, his hand a balled up fist in her own. “But my best wasn’t _good enough._ I wasn’t able to save Lincoln, and O hates me for it. She’s going to hate me forever.”

 

Clarke shakes her head vehemently, forcing his fingers apart and shoving her fingers through his own, now gripping tightly. “You don’t know that.”

 

He looks at her finally, full mouth pulled into a grim frown and eyes blazing with a fire that’s been burning him up for quite some time, she just hadn’t seen it. “I know my sister better than I know myself. Clarke, you didn’t see her face when she came back with Kane and the others. You didn’t see her hit me.” Bellamy's words are dead weights, sinking into Clarke’s heart with the hopeless resignation in every syllable.

 

She shuts her eyes and ducks her head, smoothes her free hand over the one intertwined with her own. _God, what can she even say to that?_   “Bellamy-”

 

Bellamy cuts her off with a noise that’s not entirely human, his voice sounding ripped to shreds when he speaks again. “What’s done is _done,_  Clarke. I can’t go back and I don’t regret what I did because every time I run it through my head, I don’t see any other damn way. I handcuffed you to that table because I thought I was keeping you safe; I locked Lincoln and the others up because I thought I was protecting them. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I didn’t see our people surviving with grounders watching our every move, you have to believe me…” Bellamy starts to shake, his words getting jumbled up in deep, gasping breaths. His eyes find hers, the fire still there, warped by grief and rage and a sadness so raw that it has Clarke pressing her forehead to his, grasping his free hand and placing it right over her heart.

 

“Hey, hey, feel my heartbeat. Concentrate on that, okay? It’s okay,” she babbles, his hand too-hot in her cold grip. There’s a moment, one that’s too long and too scary, because Bellamy trembles and fights for air and looks like a drowning man that doesn’t even realize that he’s long since been out of water.

 

 Clarke grips one of his hands in her own, steadies the other one against her chest, and waits, for that’s all she can really do. She murmurs softly, over and over again that _it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here and it’s okay, it’s okay, Bellamy._

 

_I’m here, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I’m not._

 

Bellamy comes back to her in increments.

 

His panicked choked-off breaths turn into slow, heaving ones, his violent trembling fading as his whole body slumps into her, and suddenly there’s no space left between them.

 

She’s never been this close to him before, never felt his forehead braced against her own, the tip of his nose brushing hers with every release of air between the two of them, his hand splayed out over her shirt, fingers lightly touching the delicate skin stretched over her collarbone.

 

Clarke feels her cheeks flush but assumes it's from the stressed situation itself and not from Bellamy's mouth so close to hers.

 

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper in the tiny pocket of air, and she nods, squeezing the hand still entwined in her own.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispers back, and it isn’t, it really isn’t.

 

But maybe it will be.

 ***

It’s a little while later, with both of their backs against the trunk like before.

 

This time, Bellamy’s hand is in Clarke’s lap, and she’s absently smoothing the fingers of her free hand over the back of his own, trailing them up his arm and back down again. It seems to ground him to the moment, to her, so she pushes away the thoughts of how  _natural_ and  _right_ this feels, because she can deal with those later.

 

She starts to tell him about her Dad, about how smart he was, about he caught her in every single lie, every dumb plot that her and Wells had come up with when they were kids. She tells Bellamy about how she had planned to go into medicine, just like her Mom, but secretly she had wanted to be an artist, had wanted to paint and draw forever.

 

Clarke whispers that watching her Dad get floated was the worst day of her life, and still blames herself for it, after all this time. Tears standing in her eyes, she adds that Wells had been like the brother she never had, and sometimes she forgets that he’s not alive anymore, that she won’t see his bright smile and his twinkling eyes in the morning.

 

She talks and talks and talks until her voice goes hoarse, until the dark blue sky starts to fade into the golden-pink hue of sunrise. Bellamy doesn’t say anything the entire time, just listens, and it’s… it’s everything Clarke didn’t know she needed until now.

 

With her eyes sliding shut, trying and failing to fight off sleep, she watches as Bellamy brings up their clasped hands to his face, and a shiver runs through her when she feels his lips press lightly against the back of her hand.

 

He lowers their hands to rest in her lap once more, his thumb rubbing circles into her palm, and she smiles, letting her eyes close.

***

Something changed, after that night.

 

A barrier’s been broken, one that they had avoided for quite some time now, for they weren't sure what to do about it, if it could ever be crossed, or if it even should be.

 

After that night, she starts to see more of Bellamy than his shadowy profile leaning against the tree trunk. She catches glimpses of him, walking out of Kane’s office, conferring with her Mom, catching a little boy by the shoulders right before he falls into the mud.

 

Suddenly Bellamy’s _there,_ walking beside her to Raven’s workshop, telling her about Miller tackling his boyfriend because he scared him during training the other day, or how he saw Monty and Jasper actually _talking._ He asks her if she’ll come on the next supply run at the end of the week, and she finds herself telling him yes, so quickly that it causes her cheeks to flush red.

 

If Bellamy notices, he doesn’t say anything, his arm brushing the tip of her shoulder with every step. Sometimes he follows her inside Raven’s workshop, complaining to the engineer that the walkie-talkies need to be fixed for the fifth time, only for her to snap back at him good-naturedly that maybe if he didn’t waste their battery life so much, they’d be just fine.

 

Clarke shakes her head and laughs, passing him a soft smile when he turns to leave. He gives her a nod, his eyes locking with hers for a moment before leaving.

 

Raven doesn’t say a word, and Clarke didn’t really expect her to, for she’s wondering if maybe she’s reading too far into things.

 

Because maybe things are the same as they’ve always been.

 

But things feel _different,_ between the two of them.

 

And the scariest part is… it feels good. Right, even.

 ***

However, no matter how much more sociable Bellamy seems to be, he still hasn’t made an appearance at dinner, and Clarke chalks it up to the fact that it’s the only event that Octavia shows up to when she’s in town.

 

“You should come to dinner,” Clarke states lightly one night, her hand in his once more. She has her knees drawn up with his arm propped up against her thigh. She’s smoothing her fingers down the palm of his hand and up to the tips of his fingers, a contented hum emitting from Bellamy when she relieves a sore spot.

 

“Why?” he mumbles, eyes half-closed, his breaths slow and even. Clarke worries her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugs.

 

“Because I want you there,” she mumbles back, so soft and so quiet that it almost gets swept away in the winding breeze that shivers through the trees. Beside her, Bellamy grunts.

 

It’s a long span of seconds, ones that make her question her truth, if maybe she shouldn’t have been so honest, if she should’ve made up a dumb excuse-

 

But she doesn’t lie to Bellamy. She never has, and she’s not going to start now.

 

“Okay,” he grumbles, suddenly trapping her fingers with his own. He squeezes her hand, once, like a promise, before letting them go.

 

She can’t help the smile that blooms across her cheeks, so big and so stupidly happy that she’s grateful he can’t see her face.

 

True to his word, he does show up to dinner the next night. He slips in when people have already sat down in various groups, eating and chattering. She doesn’t even realize that he’s there until Monty gets up to get more water and Bellamy steals her friend’s spot on the log next to her.

 

“Hey, what-” she starts to say, before letting out an affronted huff when he snatches her bread and tears it in half. Around a mouthful, he muses “Y’know, this tastes like shit.”

 

Clarke shakes her head and smacks his shoulder, grabbing what’s left of her bread from his hand. “Then don’t eat it! It’s _mine_ ,” she retorts, amusement bubbling through her words.

 

He swallows noisily and shoots her a smile that’s all mischief, leaning in to catch her eyes. “I’ll do what I want,” he murmurs, voice serious yet playful, full of hidden secrets that Clarke wants to know.

 

“Oh, will you?” she taunts back, a grin threatening to curl up at her mouth and stay there forever, as long as he keeps looking at her like that.

 

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’, and reaches around her so fast and grabs something, before leaning away.

 

She stares at him in shock and exasperation as he drinks her water, a part of her getting too caught up in watching his adam’s apple move with each gulp.

 

“You are _such_ a dick.”

 

Bellamy stops drinking to laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Then, those brown eyes swing back towards her, full of a light she hadn’t seen since they’d crashed here, all those months ago.

 

“Hey, Bell!” Monty chirps, taking the opposite side of Clarke. Instantly, the two startle, blinking dazedly at the sudden interruption.

 

“Monty, hey,” Bellamy rumbles out, playfulness replaced by his usual, gruff attitude. Clarke rolls her eyes and leans slightly into him, asks Monty about the cat he found earlier that day.

 

Clarke’s already heard the story, from Harper and Monty, but she doubts Bellamy has, and she knows that finding out that the cat scratched up Murphy’s face will drag a smile from him.

 

For a moment, Bellamy stiffens, before relaxing, letting himself lean back against her, too.

 

If Monty picks up on it, he chooses to ignore it, instead wildly gesticulating about the scrawny, gray demon he found earlier, that only lets him come close enough to touch.

 

She looks away from Monty’s animated face and the happy pull of his mouth when she feels eyes on them, eyes that had been watching for a while but Clarke had Bellamy pressed against her side and Monty’s lilting voice and she had been able to avoid it for awhile.

 

However, Clarke’s never been the one to let her curiosity lie.

 

Clarke finds Octavia, thick dark hair in a braid down her shoulder and pale skin illuminated by the fire in front of her. She didn’t look angry, or full of contempt… which is really saying something, for Octavia hasn’t looked at her with anything less since the fighting was over and Clarke stayed.

 

No, Octavia looks like someone who knows something that Clarke doesn’t, and has for a long time. She looked like someone who had something to say but couldn’t say it yet, and Clarke wondered what it was going to be.

 

For Octavia’s words are powerful, almost as powerful as her fists and her deadly sword, and Clarke knows that her words will either be a striking blow or a soothing balm or liquid courage.

 

After a moment, Octavia lifts her eyes away from her brother and stares right at Clarke. Her green eyes, unfathomable and breathtaking in their beauty, in their sheer _intensity,_  make Clarke’s heart race in her chest.

 

Clarke sucks in a breath and releases it just as quick, never taking her gaze away.

 

It’s a long string of seconds, a conversation that they’ll never have, a conversation that they’ve had many times before.

 

Octavia nods, her face softening just a degree.

 

Clarke nods back, smiling a smile that’s so tiny it’s barely even there.

 

“Clarke? Didn’t your Mom laugh at Murphy so hard she fell to the floor?” Monty’s voice asks, sounding miles away.

 

She blinks, finally tugging her eyes away and back to where she is, back to the warmth of Bellamy’s body and Monty’s smug grin. “Oh, totally. She almost hurt herself, she went down so hard,” Clarke says around a giggle, and beside her Bellamy snorts.

 

When Clarke looks up again, Octavia’s talking to Jasper, a hand on his arm and a smile on her lips. He’s leaning towards her, not quite happy, but more content than Clarke’s ever seen him to be in months.

***

This time, there isn’t a walk to the tree.

 

There’s a walk back to Clarke’s tent, Bellamy’s hands shoved in his pockets, brushing into her with each step. They don’t talk, and it’s good because there’s nothing else to say.

 

It’s when they stop in front of Clarke’s tent he does something that surprises her. In a movement that he’s done before, back when she was Wanheda and a wanted woman, tied up with a gag in her mouth, and he had tried to rescue her-

 

Slowly he reaches out a hand and trails his fingers lightly down the side of her face, tucking back a loose lock of hair. There’s no desperately relieved smile on his face, but his eyes are impossibly soft in the moonlight, and she finds herself smiling at him, one that she is starting to think is _only_ for him.

 

They stare at each other and the world doesn’t disappear and she doesn’t forget where she is.

 

No, it’s like she’s memorizing every second, down to the faint laughter back at the fire and the whistling of the wind and the feel of his hand against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles, his fingers still smoothing back that stray lock of hair, even though it’s now safely secured behind her ear. She nods, and feeling brave, lifts up her hand and captures the one on her face.

 

“Okay,” she whispers, squeezing his fingers.

 

His lips quirk up, before he’s slipping through her fingers and walking away, brown eyes never leaving hers until he has to turn around.

 

Clarke falls asleep with charcoal-stained fingers and Bellamy’s face roughly sketched out on her notebook, face so serious but his eyes carrying the softness that’s becoming something that Clarke’s not sure she can ever live without.

 

**

 

“I swear to god, if you even _dare_ -” she threatens, hands thrown up to cover her face, silly giggles rising in her throat and she’s helpless to stop them.

 

She peeks over her ‘shield’ to see Bellamy hedging towards her, dripping wet rag in one hand, and a dangerous smirk on his full mouth that makes Clarke shake her head, a grin fighting its way up her lips.

 

The two of them had been washing the Jeep, because the day had been warmer than usual and it was sunny out and Bellamy _asked_ and it wasn’t like she had any big plans…

 

“Come on, princess. Afraid of a little water?” He teases, and her eyes jump to the muscles in his arms and his messy hair and his flushed cheeks and she’s such a _goner._

 

Hastily, she backtracks around the car, trying to put distance between them but she knows, _knows_ that he’s going to get her.

 

But she’s not going to go easily.

 

Clarke shakes her head, her voice coming out breathless as she responds, “You should be afraid of what I’ll do to you if you do what I think you’re going to do.”

 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. “And what’s that?”

 

Clarke lowers her hands and makes a choice.

 

If she stays where she is, he’ll be able to crowd her against the car and definitely drench her with the rag. But if she makes a run for it… she might have a chance.

 

Maybe.

 

If she’s feeling lucky.

 

_Maybe it’ll take him by surprise._

 

That could buy her some time, give her a head start.

 

Without warning, she breaks into a run, shoving past him hard enough to make him stumble, laughing when he lets out an affronted “Hey!” and then she hears his heavy footfalls, racing after her.

 

She might have some distance, but he’s always been faster than her.

 

Clarke barely sidesteps some kids playing, hollering out a “sorry!” after her, noticing just how close Bellamy is behind her. She laughs, not caring how young or silly she sounds, because she hasn’t had this much fun in _years._

 

Bellamy catches her around the waist just as she reaches the hospital, nearly taking her off her feet.

 

“Bellamy!” she squeals, the breath knocking out of her as he chuckles into her hair. He swings her around and she slaps at his arm, wanting him to set her down and never wanting him to let go of her, ever.

 

He’s lost the rag, but he’s making up for it by rubbing his wet hair into her neck, and she can’t stop giggling, can’t stop the happiness that’s curling up at her heart and settling there like it could actually have a home.

Finally, he sets her down, and she turns to face him, lightly shoving at his chest and shaking her head, telling him that he’s an asshole when she doesn’t really even mean it.

  
Brown eyes, bright and filled with amusement and something that Clarke can’t put a name to, for it’s so close to happy that it’s making her blush.

 

"Would you two get a tent already?" Jasper deadpans from behind them. 

 

Clarke's eyes widen, looking over Bellamy's shoulder to see Jasper with his hands in his pockets, Monty at his side, ducking his head to hide a grin. 

 

Jasper doesn't quite smile, but his dark, observant eyes look the least troubled that she's seen in a long time. He's almost looking at her the way he used to look at her; like a friend. 

 

Bellamy, who had frozen once he had heard Jasper's voice, now searches her face, trying to see what she's going to say before she says it. In response, she raises an eyebrow at him and lightly pushes around Bellamy to call back "Would you get a haircut already?" through a hopeful smile. 

 

Because it's hope,  _hope_ , swelling in her chest and making her brave. Bellamy stares at her like she's gone crazy, a grin threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth. 

 

Beside Jasper, Monty laughs, loudly and freely, throwing his head back. Jasper shakes his head, shoving at his best friend and if Clarke squints, she can see the hint of a smile on his face. 

 

_Forgiveness isn't something we deserve._

 

_Forgiveness is a choice._

Now, Bellamy has turned around to face their friends, side leaning into hers, arms crossed over his broad chest. 

 

"Shut it, Clarke," Jasper snarks back, running a hand over his floppy locks. Bellamy snorts and Clarke feels dizzy, for hope is still such a foreign concept to her, just like the sound of Bellamy's laugh and Jasper's smile. 

***

"So... you and Bellamy-" Clarke cuts off her mother's curiosity with a look so sharp that Abby immediately raises her hands in surrender. 

 

"I'm not allowed to ask, am I?" Abby purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, making Clarke feel like she's twelve years old again and didn't want to talk about how her first period bled through her pants.  _Good times._

 

Clarke's fingers tighten around the supplies she carries in her hands. "Nope," she replies curtly. 

 

Abby lets out a huff of air and shakes her head. "Clarke, I know you and him are- well, whatever you are. I'm just saying, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. Okay?" she says, soft and warm and reassuring, a voice that used to soothe Clarke to sleep at night on the ark, clutching her stuffed bear to her chest. 

 

Clarke sighs and drops the medical supplies she was carrying onto a bed, before crossing the room to her Mom and pulling her in close. "Thank you," she whispers against Abby's shoulder, and her mother murmurs something back, something nice that gets pressed to Clarke's forehead in an affectionate kiss. Her mom strokes her hair and holds her tight and for a moment, Clarke is able to forget that way her Mom said  _you and Bellamy._

 

_Me and Bellamy._

 

Like a unit. Like a team. 

 

Like... like _together._  

 

And that's too much, too much, because even if Clarke would tell her Mom about her and Bellamy, she doesn't even know herself. 

 

All she knows is that she likes the sound of  _you and Bellamy._

 

Maybe too much.

**

Luna wants Clarke to come to Polis with Kane, in a matter of days.

 

The newly appointed Heda requests to talk to Clarke about what her place will be in the ruling of the thirteen clans, and Clarke doesn't want to go.

 

Clarke doesn't want any say in the ruling of any people. 

 

Never again. 

 

Clarke never again wants to make impossible choices and countless mistakes and have blood on her hands and her friends hating her and her Mom staring at her like she doesn't quite know who she is anymore. 

 

And she can't leave Bellamy again. 

 

Not with how far they've come, not after what happened. 

 

Clarke left once because she thought she was making the right choice for once, thought that Bellamy didn't need her as much as she needed him, thought that him and the others would be better off without her... a reminder of what it took to get them there. 

 

She  _knows_ she has to go, knows it even as she opens her mouth to tell Kane no, she won't be going, she can't. 

 

Bellamy is there when Kane makes the news, and then the fire's back in his eyes, burning him from the inside out. He tells their chancellor that if Clarke's going, he has to go.

 

He has to. 

 

Clarke can't help but look at him then, his full mouth pressed in a firm line, eyebrows draw in determinedly, hands curled into fists at his sides. 

 

Kane sighs heavily and shakes his head, and Abby's hand reaches for one of his own. 

 

"You can't, Bellamy. I need you here, I need you to watch over the others while we're gone. It's only for a few days, We'll-" Kane's calm words are cut off by Bellamy's growl of frustration, surprising both Kane and Abby. 

 

_They know what Bellamy's capable of._

 

" _No._ Monty, Jasper, Miller and Harper are fully capable of looking after things. You just don't want me there because you see me as a liability," Bellamy practically spits out, full of a toxic anger that instantly permeates the air with a tension so thick, Clarke's not sure if there's any way to stop it. 

 

Abby stares at Bellamy with so much sympathy that Clarke wishes she could shield him from her Mom.

 

Clarke's been on the receiving end of that before, and it's always made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. 

 

Kane takes a step forward and Bellamy immediately steps back, his whole body starting to shake.

 

"Son, that's not true." Kane means well, wants to mean the words, but they fall flat and sink into the ground with the lie etched into every syllable. 

 

Bringing Bellamy is a dangerous risk and one they cannot take because Bellamy was part of a Grounder massacre and there are people out there who still want to slice his body up with three hundred cuts and let him bleed to death. 

 

Just thinking about it makes Clarke feel like she's gotten sucker punched in the gut, her heart threatening to crack in her chest. 

 

_I can't lose him._

 

_I  can't._

 

_I won't._

 

Clarke has closed the distance between her and Bellamy so fast that Bellamy's blinking at her in surprise, for she's so close that he can see the long, dark flick of her eyelashes and the flecks of green in her wide blue eyes. She takes both of his fists in her own hands, pushes against his fingers until hers are able to slide through. 

 

"It'll be a few days. I'll come back. Okay? I'll come back," she murmurs gently, squeezing his hands. For a moment, Bellamy stares at her, eyes tracking every inch of her face, even though he knows it like the back of his hand, sees her features every time he shuts his eyes.

 

There's a silent communication that passes between the two of them, one that they've mastered perfectly over the past seven months. 

 

Bellamy breathes harshly through his nose. His intense gaze turns pleading, turns into a last-ditch, desperate attempt to get her to change her mind, even though he knows it's already been set.

 

Clarke stares back, decided and already sorry, already asking for forgiveness because she doesn't want to leave with him angry at her. 

 

_I was so angry at you, for leaving._

 

"Trust me," she says, barely over a whisper. 

 

_I'll come back._

Bellamy shuts his eyes and ducks his head, his mouth moving so fast that she almost doesn't catch it. "Okay," he mutters, still angry, still so angry, but there's a hint of acceptance in there. A hint of understanding, a hint of the trust that she's asked of him. 

 

Clarke releases a shaky sigh of relief, and she turns around, not letting go of Bellamy's hands. "I'll go," she tells the chancellor levelly, meeting Kane's eyes. Kane stares back as if he's finally put all of the puzzle pieces together, and Abby looks almost proud. 

 

There isn't a meeting at the tree, and Bellamy doesn't come into her tent the next morning to say goodbye. 

 

She didn't expect him to.

 

He's trusting her to come back, and Bellamy doesn't normally trust people, especially people who have hurt him. 

 

This is a test. And it's one that Clarke's determined to pass with flying colors. 

 

She does find his face as she slides into the Jeep. He meets her steady gaze with an unfathomable look in his too-serious eyes, and nods. 

 

Clarke nods back and shuts the car door. 

**

Luna is peaceful yet brutal, warm yet cool, speaking to her like an old friend but also a stranger that's she's judging with every slight movement Clarke makes. 

 

The Heda is nothing like Lexa, but the way she proudly raises her head and the confident twist of her mouth has Clarke thinking if maybe Lexa's spirit might live inside Luna, through the chip.

 

Being around Luna, being in Polis, brings back memories that don't hurt as much as Clarke thought they would. 

 

In fact, she feels more at peace than she has in a long, long time. She misses Lexa, probably always will, but the whole in her heart that Lexa left has scarred over, the pain leaving but the memory of her plush mouth and strong, skilled hands will never fade. 

 

No, it's like... it's like Clarke has open herself up to something that she never did with Lexa. Something that's been there for a long time, has been forged and solidified and strengthened with every look, every action, every word, and Clarke's just now realizing it, and just how much she needs it to be real. 

 

Luna tries to persuade her to stay longer, to take up the ambassador position that she had before, but Clarke tells her no. Clarke's not sure if she'll ever be ready for something like that again, if she ever even wants to. 

 

Indra talks to Kane and claps a hand on his shoulder and gives Clarke a look that makes her think that sometimes, forgiveness isn't possible.

 

However, she does ask Clarke about Octavia, and Clarke answers her the best she can, which isn't much, because while Octavia's around more, it doesn't mean that she says hi to the older girl when she sees her at dinner.

 

They leave after four days, and Clarke's anxious, biting her lip and jittering her leg the whole ride home. She can't help it, can't help the way her heart thumps too fast in her chest and her inability to think of nothing other than a boy with tanned, freckled skin and big brown eyes that she could lose herself in forever. 

 

Sometimes, she takes a break from staring out the window and talks to Kane, asks him about her mom and if he's happy. Kane cuts his eyes towards her, a tiny smile quirking up his lips. He talks and talks and Clarke _listens_ and it's nice. 

 

They get to Arkadia in the dawn of morning, the gates creaking open at their arrival. Abby makes it to the car first, hugging Clarke before making her way towards Kane. Clarke smiles softly as the two embrace, Kane's face almost breathtaking in his happiness. 

 

Clarke turns around just in time for someone to hug her so swiftly that it nearly knocks her off of her feet. 

 

"You came _back_ ," Bellamy whispers fiercely against the skin of her neck, full of relief and wonderment.

 

Clarke lets out a shaky breath that she feels like was held in ever since she left, and then she's wrapping her whole body around him, legs coming up to link at his waist. He holds her easily, burying his face in her hair and murmuring something too jumbled for her to hear. And that's okay, it really is, because Clarke's finding that her chin fits perfectly in the crook of his shoulder as she presses her smile into his warm, freckled skin. 

 

It's a very, very long time before they pull apart. 

 

There's no ambush on the beach or impending goodbyes... there's just a promise that wasn't broken, and a test that was passed. 

 

The two pull away slowly, eyes finding each other's out of habit, out of instinct. He sets her down, hands sliding up her thighs and curling firmly around her hips. She lightly pushes back some of the hair that always falls messily over his forehead, her fingers trailing over the soft curve of his ear. 

 

_Forgiveness._

 

_Maybe we'll get that someday._

 

"Is it someday?" Clarke suddenly asks breathlessly, smiling up at him.

 

Bellamy blinks, squeezing her hips. It only takes him a moment, and then his gaze turns into something that tingles down Clarke's spine with its warmth. 

 

"Yeah, yeah it's someday," he murmurs, biting his bottom lip to fight back the smile that he's almost afraid of, for its so unmistakably happy.

**

This time, their backs aren't against a tree. 

 

They're in Clarke's tent, lying side by side, her sketchbook in his hands. Pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, fingers brushing every so often when Clarke points to a certain drawing Bellamy's stopped at for an explanation. 

 

When he finds one of him, of his face, she flushes slightly and lets him stare at it, trace his fingers over the features that took days to get just right. 

 

Three more pages and he finds another one, this time with him braced against the tree, and he tilts his head to press his cheek to her hair, before flipping to the next one. 

 

There are drawings of plants and animals and their friends and Bellamy doesn't say anything, anything at all, but Clarke knows he likes them, knows it in the way he pauses and looks over every single one before going to the next. 

 

It's the last of Clarke's secrets, the key to her thoughts, and it doesn't feel as scary as she'd thought it would be.

 

It feels like a relief.

 

Clarke's drifting off to sleep, her eyes losing the fight to stay open when Bellamy speaks. "I talked to O when you were gone," he says softly, almost unsure, and it has Clarke opening her eyes. 

 

She reaches out a tired hand and gently takes the sketchbook out of his grip. She sets it down on the ground beside them before slipping her hand through his own. "How'd it go?" she asks. 

 

Beside her, Bellamy exhales heavily, shifting their hands so that his fingers slide through the cracks of hers, gripping tightly. "Not as bad as I thought it would be. She... she said that she's ready to try and let me back into her life."

 

Clarke blinks, a small smile erupting on her face. She twists so that she's on her side to get a better look at his face. "That's amazing, Bellamy," she murmurs, watching as his face slips into fear and a vulnerability so raw that it has her heart sinking in her chest. 

 

"Clarke, what if I screw this up? This is my only shot and what if I blow it? What if I say something and she takes it the wrong way, what if-" he babbles anxiously, dread lacing through every word. And Clarke can't take it. She just can't. 

 

In one smooth motion, she slings herself on top of Bellamy, straddling his waist. She grabs his other hand and tugs him up so that they share the same breath, his face crowding her own. "You're going to be _fine_. Bellamy, she knows you and she loves you. Octavia's your sister  and once she's made up her mind, once she's set on something, she follows it all the way through, just like you. If she's willing to work this out, then she's not going to give up on you," Clarke says quietly and filled with faith that _Bellamy_ has awakened within her. 

 

Bellamy has his head ducked low, his dark wavy hair hiding his eyes from her. 

 

"How do you know that?" he whispers, sounding so lost, and Clarke releases one of his hands to cup his chin, tilting his head up to hers. He goes willingly, and what he finds in her face leaves him shaken to the core. 

 

No one has ever looked at him like that before. 

 

Like they were seeing all of him, all of the good and the terrible, horrible,  _bad,_ and loved him. Not despite it, or out of obligation... but all of it because it was _him_. 

 

 _How did I miss this?_ He asks himself, his mouth opening but nothing comes out. 

 

How did Clarke become the privileged, stubborn princess to the brave, beautiful girl that had become the center of his universe?

 

How did she fight her way into his heart and stake a claim there when he hadn't even noticed? 

 

How had she gotten him to hope again when he had given up on the concept a long time ago? 

 

"Because I really hope so," she tells him, and he's such a goner, his resolve finally crumbling down to the last bit. 

 

He's done with trying to repress what he's been feeling because he gets it now,  _he really does_ , and this just might ruin him. Clarke just might ruin him but she's also the one person that's able to glue him back together and make him feel like he's someone worthy of forgiveness. 

 

_Because I really hope so._

 

_Hope._

  

"Damn it," he curses under his breath, and then he's crushing his mouth to hers, one hand coming up to smooth down the pale column of her neck. Bellamy kisses Clarke and it feels like a home he never knew could have, never knew that  _this_ is what it's supposed to feel like. 

 

Clarke stiffens in his arms and just when he's about to pull away, worried that he's pushed too soon, that maybe he should've waited for her to make the first move, she's moving her mouth against his, kissing him back, slipping a hand through his hair and curling her fingers into the thick strands. 

 

He growls at her touch, clutching her close and kissing her with everything he's got, everything that he is, and hoping that it's enough, that it will always, always be enough.

 

She smiles against his lips, squeezing the hand that's still entwined with her own and he laughs into her mouth, not used to feeling like this, like everything is right in the world, like something akin to forgiveness is possible.

 

They fall asleep, later, Clarke tucked into his side, head on his chest, right over his steady beating heart. Bellamy's arm is curled around her waist, his hand a warm brand on her hip. She has her own arm slung over his waist, falls into darkness, to the sound of his slow, even breathing.

 

Bellamy falls right with her, realizing that  _someday_ and  _hope_ might've been the same thing all along. 

 


End file.
